


the patron saint of silent restraint

by soitgoes



Series: ramblers ramblin' [1]
Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2257692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soitgoes/pseuds/soitgoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Late at night, when no one is looking, Kate gets very sad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the patron saint of silent restraint

Late at night, when no one is looking, Kate gets very sad. Not that she makes much of an effort to stop looking sad when people are looking. Seth doesn’t really mind or notice. She knows that he is miserable too but at night, sitting in the passenger seat, angled back not nearly far enough to be comfortable, with the hot air blowing though the rolled down windows bringing with it the smell of desert dust, that’s when she misses home.

The thought of home, to her surprise, doesn’t ever bring images of Bethel, of the house she grew up in. She doesn't ever smell the freshly cut grass in the spring, see her mother’s pristine flowerbed out front. She doesn’t think of the church with its high arching ceiling, the heavy black double doors that's more familiar than her own name. God comes to mind briefly. Her mother once told her that their true home “was in the Lord”. Kate had nodded as though she understood but she didn’t, she still doesn’t quiet get it. All those images, scents and sounds; those memories are too far off from where she stands now at the pinnacle of a tumbling, quiet horror.

When Kate thinks of home, she thinks of the Winnebago. It doesn’t make much sense but she doesn't try to make sense of it anymore. She had hated the motor home. The dingy carpet, the lumpy cushioned booth that circled around the rickety table at the back, everything about it had irritated her to no end. She had thought herself above it all and even now a part of her is set to hate the motor home until the day she dies. But still when she thinks of it now, there is an overwhelming sense of longing, of nostalgia. Not for those messy, terrifying hours that she had spent there, the guns and shouting, her father’s lies, she doesn’t miss that. It is something else. She misses things that never even happened, the places they didn’t go, the trip that she and Scott and her dad meant to take. 

She knows that the motorhome must still be sitting in the dirt parking lot out front the empty Titty Twister, abandoned and alone. All of her things are still there. She and Seth were in such a rush to leave they didn’t even think to grab a few things they might need or want. Her entire life is packed up in plastic bins and cardboard boxes and haphazardly stacked in the belly of a Winnebago from before the turn of the century. She feels a little sick thinking about it.

The visions come without warning. In her head the rickety Winnebago’s engine kicks and roars into life. Slowly it backs up and ambles out of the parking lot all on its own. There’s no one in it. No one is driving. It moves at a sluggish pace and she follows in stride, walking in the orange dust. She knows that she has to follow it. That's her life, her entire life, moving at a snail's pace out on to the highway. 

Her vision breaks at a wet hack from Seth. He heaves in a huge breath then blusters it out in a halting, hacking snore. Kate rolls her eyes. He continues to sleep as though the sound of each breath rumbling through his nose and throat wasn’t as loud or as disruptive as some rusting locomotive on its last leg tumbling down a rocky cliff side. This was the real reason she can never get to sleep anymore. She huffs, irritated that he could sleep so well while she was kept up all night daydreaming of empty motorhomes going on ghost trips through Mexico. Without much reserve she whips her arm out and smacks him dead in the chest.

There’s a breathy “oof” and then the sound of Seth shifting quickly in his seat. He hits his knee on the steering wheel and curses.

“Wha- huh? Who’s that?” he slurs. He had knocked back half a bottle of tequila earlier and Kate’s impressed that he’s even sober enough to wake up. “Kate. Kate! Kate where are you?”

“Still here.”

“Oh good,” he mumbles and yawns widely. He stretches his arms up and nearly whacks her in the back of the head. Kate is hit suddenly with the sharp smell of alcohol mixed in with the musky scent of Seth’s sweat mixed with the soap and shampoo they stole from the supermarket last week. “What time is it?”

She shrugs. The little green numbers on the dashboard clock had gone out hours ago and she didn’t have a watch. She’s fairly sure that Seth didn’t even really want to know because he doesn’t pursue the answer when she doesn’t say anything. It gets quiet and she thinks that Seth must have fallen back asleep when he startles her by speaking again.

“You been up this whole time, Princess?” he murmurs in the dark, his voice more sober than before but still sluggish and vague.

“Yeah.”

“You should sleep.”

“Yeah.”

A silence gapes between them like open jaws and she’s unwilling to step crawl inside but Seth pulls her in.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he says and she feels him looking at her. She considers just shrugging and turning over, trying for sleep again. She might have been able to finally fall asleep before he started snoring but instead the words come up and push their way out of her mouth before she can stop them.

“You sound like a lawn mower when you sleep.”

Seth lets out a bark of laughter. It is muddled and husky but it rattles her to the bones. She’s never heard him laugh like that before, never even seen him smile without some sharp sarcastic anger buried behind his eyes, in the lines around his mouth.

“Richie used to say that,” he says and yawns again. “Thought I should go get checked for – what was it? – sleep – sleep somethin’.”

“Apnea, sleep apnea. My dad had it.”

At the mention of Richie and Jacob the conversation turns stale and both of them are left feeling nearly breathless at the reminder of their loss.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s it.” Then bidden by guilt that starry-eyed optimism that comes with late night boozing Seth continues on. He's staring out the windshield. He doesn't even turn to look at her when he says, “We’re gonna be fine, Kate. I promise you we’re gonna be just fine.”

He continues to talk but his words become less and less audible as the Winnebago that exists only in her mind grumbles loudly. It shakes and vibrates as it sits in the middle of the highway like it’s waiting for her. She stands inside the great dark shadow it casts feeling colder than she’s ever felt before in her entire life.

“Hey,” Seth’s voice pulls at her. She had fallen asleep. Her eyes snap down to her shoulder where his hand rests. In the darkness she can only just make out the blurry lines of his thick fingers, his rounded flat fingernails. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah.”

“Try to get some sleep will ya? You’re gonna make yourself sick.”

She nods but he doesn’t notice. He falls asleep again in a couple of minutes snoring as loud as ever but Kate rolls over and closes her eyes. She dreams that she’s there again in the shadow of motor home as it looms above her. Silhouetted by the setting sun it looks like some mythic beast, some terror of old. It shivers and shakes all the metal and plastic parts clinking together, chattering amongst each other. Then suddenly the tail pipe coughs out a gust of dark smoke, the engine revs and the motor home begins to move its shadow draining away as it goes on without her.  She watches as it rides off into the sunset all on its own and slowly she raises a hand to wave goodbye. She waves and waves until it’s gone from her sight. Then there is nothing.

Kate sleeps just fine from then on.


End file.
